


Social Negotiations (An Everyone Knows, Ladies First Remix)

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm nothing if not a gentleman."  His smile is as warm as hers had been but there's something a bit off about it, as if it, or he, didn't belong here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Social Negotiations (An Everyone Knows, Ladies First Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everyone Knows, Ladies First](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/12747) by MatildaSwan. 



> General creepiness and stalkerish behavior abounds.

She's running late. For someone who's accustomed to showing up five minutes early as a sign of curtsey the thought of running late, this late, left her rattled. Manners, like chivalry, weren't dead, at least not as long as she was alive to prove otherwise. It was a bit of a lost cause in the modern world, particularly in a place as chaotic in New York, but Helen had never been one to turn down a challenge.

"Hold the elevator," she calls, wincing as she watches the doors begin to slip shut. She's moving as fast as she can, quick short steps slipping across the short smooth carpeting in the hall. She's all made up, hair coiled and curled, diamond earrings glittering, the narrow knee length skirt of her dress hobbling her each and every step. Working in politics had its benefits; she loved her work, even the galas, but right now she hated this dress.

At the last minute, the door holds and she sighs in relief, slipping inside a moment later. "Thank you," she breathes with a warm smile. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you waiting for me."

"I'm nothing if not a gentleman." His smile is as warm as hers had been but there's something a bit off about it, as if it, or he, didn't belong here.

"Are you headed to the gala?" She hazards a cautious guess, an attempt at making conversation while they wait for the elevator to descend the three dozen floors to the lobby. Despite the fact most of the others had left hours before to prepare for the night out, she's not about to assume she was the only one currently tied up with work. There were several time sensitive negotiations going on and while changing in a public restroom wasn't exactly glamorous she hadn't wanted to waste time returning home in rush hour traffic.

"Something like that." He smiles again and she nods, her polite smile fading. She's certain now she hasn't seen him before, and while he is in a suit, it's not nearly as nice as what she would expect given an event of this magnitude.

"I heard it's supposed to be quite spectacular this year."

There's no reply from her companion and Helen has to stop herself from tapping the toe of her carefully pointed and polished shoe against the smooth marble underfoot. She's not worried about the noise, grating or not, but about betraying her nervousness. It's the first real sign that she knows something's wrong, that something isn't right. There's something in the way that he's looking at her, not glancing at her curiously, or even ogling her carefully accentuated curves, but watching her outright as if he's sizing her up. It's a careful, calculating look and it makes her skin crawl.

"If you're not stopping off anywhere along the way, perhaps we could share a cab." She makes an effort to keep her voice steady, light with assumed enthusiasm. It's not as hard as it should be, political negotiations were often fragile, requiring both patience and a fair amount of acting aptitude. Nervous or not, over the years she had learned to keep her emotions in check.

"That won't be necessary Dr. Magnus. I'm sure you have quite a lot to think about."

"Excuse me?" The words come out whisper soft, shimmering. She swallows, tongue darting out to moisten her lips, keep her sandpaper mouth from bleeding out across her skin. "I don't recall giving you my name."

"Helen, isn't it?" His smile now is cold. "It's written on the plaque beside your door. Helen Magnus, PhD. Top of your class at U Mass and Tufts, then onto bigger and better things at Harvard Law. You should be more careful about what ends up online. Cobble Hill isn't as anonymous as it seems. Enjoy your party, doctor. I left you a present for the morning. I hope you don't mind I borrowed some of your monogrammed stationary. It had such a beautiful floral print."

She stares at him blankly as the elevator doors slip open and he strides purposely across the lobby as if he belonged there, if he had always been here waiting for her to step alone into the elevator. She follows after him automatically until she reaches the edge of the semi-enclosed elevator bank and stops.

The note, he had left the note. She had figured it for a joke. The folded wedge of stationary she now knew to be from the desk in her second bedroom had appeared seemingly from thin air while she had slipped out of her office to change. _Your ideals may be noble, but you don't strike me as a martyr._ With its hasty scrawl and lack of either her name or the author's she hadn't thought anything of it. Perhaps she had accidently picked it up when she had gone for coffee that afternoon at the Starbucks around the corner. At the time, it had seemed more like bad poetry than anything meant for her. She'd been more concerned about running late, missing the opening remarks, than she had been about any implication such a seemingly random note could have on her work.

The man rounds the corner by the security desk as she leans down to slip off her heels. Hiking up her skirt, she pads swiftly back across the icy floor to the elevators. In her office, the crumpled note lay waiting for her in her trash bin.


End file.
